Author's Note: This story contains Thor/Loki psuedo-incest, dubious consent. Rated M for a reason. Don't like, don't read!

"I wish I could trust you."

"Oh, but you can." That fine, thin bow of a mouth twisted into a smile he knew so well. Loki. Devious, cunning, powerful, divine Loki. How was it that it always seemed so right when he was with Loki, and so wrong when he thought about it later? So wrong that he could never tell anyone… not ever. His father would be devastated; his mother – a cramp of grief struck him, and he swiftly turned away from thoughts of her. And what would his companions say if they knew how long this had been going on? Rough, sweaty bouts of dominance-roused man-love between warriors was one thing. That could be overlooked, even sometimes praised when the mead and wine were flowing. But Loki… it was never like that with him. Loki the trickster, Loki with all the turns and twists of his mind – Loki, the true inheritor of Odin's cunning – Loki, who would happily change his form, his gender, even his species without a qualm, just for the fun of it. Long before either of them was informed of Loki's origins, they had somehow known. Their private life had not resembled that of siblings. Loki's pale, almost delicate beauty was a thing that, at one time, Thor would have literally died to protect... or to hold.

"You can always trust me, Thor, to know what I want." Loki held up his cuffed wrists. "Take these damned things off. You know I'm no good to you without my hands." Thor couldn't help being taken aback at Loki's brashness, his gall. Right here, in front of Jane? Thor risked a glance at her. She obviously saw nothing. More of Loki's illusions! When Thor's gaze returned to Loki, he saw that the Jötun's grin had only widened. He was not the least bit repentant.

"On the contrary, brother," Thor replied, "even you must agree, under the circumstances, your restraints make sense." Not to mention that the idea of Loki helpless, Loki deprived of the cunning trickery of his slender fingers, stripped of his usual ability to transform the mighty wielder of Mjölnir into a frenzied mess… Loki in this position had long been the stuff of dreams for Thor.

That same smile still twisted Loki's lips - once sewn together, the scars now invisible to mortal eyes. "Oh, Thor," he all but sighed, "You know why I want my hands free… or more precisely, you know why you want them free." Taking a chance, he leaned in and pressed those still-scarred lips against his adoptive brother's, the roughness of Thor's stubble sending shivers down the back of his neck. Sensing Thor's hesitation, Loki reached forward within his bonds. His sensitive fingertips barely stroked the outside of Thor's armor, but worked their magic nonetheless. At Thor's sudden intake of breath Loki knew that he had won. Even through the armor, Thor could feel it against his own golden flesh: the pale coolness of Loki's touch, just the barest hint of the frost of his ancestors. It was Loki's hands, and Loki's alone, that could make Thor come undone.

And he was undone. Quicker than a lightning-strike, Thor threw Loki down, landing astride the Jötun and knocking the breath from his lungs. Loki's head bounced roughly off wood, the hard planes of the boat pressing into his back, his handcuffed wrists pinned over his head. He twisted against the pressure, the sheer weight of his not-brother; his long, beautiful hands struggled helplessly against the cuffs.

Wild with grief and rage and desire, Thor attacked his adopted brother's armor with hands and teeth, then swiftly loosed his own armor, just enough. Even as Loki still gasped for breath, he never took his eyes off his brother's. He saw Thor's storm-blue eyes darken, pupils dilating, and knew the thunder-god truly savored Loki's helplessness. But then Thor froze, as if in indecision. What is he waiting for? Loki thought. Thor doesn't wait; Thor acts! The smallest tendril of fear wormed its way into Loki's heart. Stopping now wasn't part of the plan, not with things this far gone.

Quickly, Loki affected a sneer and drew a tiny breath to taunt Thor further – and abruptly found himself all but choking, his face a mere inch from the burly blonde's, an armored forearm tight against his throat. The thunder-god's breath was hot, his eyes clouded gray with pain. "Loki, this is madness," he whispered hoarsely. "But this one last time, you shall have what you want. On your knees, brother."

He released his hold on Loki's throat and shoved him to one side. Coughing and gagging, Loki scrambled to obey. He had only just begun to push himself up, however, when his body was wrenched painfully around, thrown onto his back, pinned once more against the unforgiving surface of the boat.

"I've changed my mind," Thor declared with a ghost of a smile. "I want to see your face this time."

It was not in Thor's nature to show mercy during battle. Gentleness was reserved for the beloved … or for the dying. As Loki endured each harsh thrust of Thor's assault on his body, as he fought to remain still and take this punishment, as he waited in agony for that one moment when the rough, tearing pain would transform to sublime pleasure … Loki couldn't help wondering whether his adoptive brother would have treated him with more gentleness if he, too, knew what was to come. That thought, more than any physical suffering, brought tears to Loki's ice-blue eyes.

It was Loki's last coherent thought. The frost in his heart charred to ash as he surrendered to that one pleasure keener than any pain, white-hot and electric, his seed spilling in wild, jolting spasms, helplessly impaled on his brother's sword.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was shocked to see that Thor's head was turned aside. Thor was weeping.

This should have been a gratifying sight.

It was not.